


Lil' Drunk One

by Tiofrean



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drunk!Rick, First Time, Hand Jobs, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Protective!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the New Year's Eve the prison group decides to have a little celebration. When people get spectacularly drunk, Daryl does some pondering while taking care of their inebriated leader. But that's exactly the problem, Rick is just drunk and doesn't mean anything he says… or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lil' Drunk One

**Author's Note:**

> First things first - a huge and loud THANK YOU to my wonderful beta MermaidSheenaz, who makes every fic look like a dream! Thank you dear for every correction, every edit and every idea you poured into this fic <3 Dziękuje Kochana! ;) <3
> 
> Second... This month has been a shitstorm for everyone, and I think we all need something more humoristic to brighten up the second half of it. And so, lo and behold, a drunk!Rick appears to make your lips smile and your face lighten up! I hope he'll make you all smile a bit :) 
> 
> Third... All references to "Opossum Days" and "Don't Have a Cow" by Michelle_A_Emerlind are all intended (you should read those fics, they are hilarious!). 
> 
> Enjoy ya'll!

Everyone was drunk. Well, everyone except Daryl, because someone had to be sensible, god damn it. The archer sat there with his whole family gathered in the living area of the prison, watching as they chatted merrily. They were all celebrating the New Year's Eve and, because booze was the only thing they had plenty of, they got steadily more and more inebriated.

Hershel was only a bit drunk, which didn't surprise Daryl, not really. The man tried not to drink and it must have been a great shit coming down or an even greater celebration to make him even consider something alcoholic. Right now the older man was animatedly talking with a fairly pissed Glenn about horse shoes, of all things. His daughters were decidedly drunk, Maggie being the one pretending to sit straight even if all she managed was to bend like a willow on a storm, while Beth didn't even try to keep up her game and just leaned over the table, propping herself on one elbow and listening intently to the horse shoe drama. Michonne was sitting in a corner, gripping tightly to one of her dreadlocks and watching it intently and Daryl was sure that had she still had her katana, the dreadlock would meet its end right there and then. Thank god they decided to leave their weapons at the entrance before they started to drink. Carl, after being allowed to drink one beer, was chatting away at a very sleepy Tyreese, and Carol was very focused on some sort of handiwork that involved the table, some pasta and two knives sticking out of the wooden surface.

Suddenly a loud hiccuping sound to his left drew his attention and he turned his head to look. Rick was… well, Rick was pissed beyond belief. The man has had far too much alcohol, going by the look on his face alone, never mind his wide and unsteady bowlegged steps and uncontrolled flailing of his arms. Daryl has never seen Rick like this and it brought a smirk to his face every time he looked at the other man. It was a sight to behold…

Rick was sitting on a chair… well, trying not to fall from a chair he found himself in the close proximity with was a more accurate description. One of his hands was gripping the edge of the seat tightly while the other was busy running through a box of old music tapes they found on one of the runs. They had a small battery-operated player set up just for today's fest and Rick was apparently trying to become the best post apocalyptic DJ. It wouldn't be so funny, had it not been for his body being twisted like a snake on meth and his legs kicking out every now and then trying to make up for the lack of balance. He looked almost adorable in his drunk tries to get his body coordinated for long enough to actually browse through more than the first ten tapes, and Daryl felt himself grinning at the idea of taking a photo of him. He should have stolen that polaroid of Glenn's when he had a chance.

A burst of loud snickering laughter brought his eyes back to the merry band at the table where Hershel was done talking about horse shoes, and possibly all shoes in general, and was now impersonating what Daryl guessed should be a walker cow, but looked suspiciously like a rabid opossum. He noticed that Glenn now moved to Carol and was vividly describing something that appeared to be a tomato and for the briefest of moments the hunter actually wondered if someone had laced up their drinks.

He didn't have long to dwell on that, however, as a loud bang, followed by a wheezed out curse drew his attention back to Rick. The sheriff was still more or less in the same place, the difference being that he had apparently lost the fight with gravitation and was no longer clinging to the chair but rather to the floor he was sprawled on. He was on his back, looking at the ceiling with all the fascination of a turtle that someone had flipped upside down. He was also just as mobile as said turtle, hands and legs flying around him but not really helping his predicament. Daryl chuckled and stood up, making his way to their leader. He scooted down once he got there and looked at Rick, who blinked at him like he was God himself coming down to aid the mortals.

The hunter watched in disbelief as Rick's lips stretched in the most blinding smile he has ever seen on the other man's face and frowned when nothing followed. Rick was just lying there, legs still trying to make the difference in physics of gravitation, and starting up at him with the biggest shit-eating grin on this side of the end of the world. Daryl waited patiently for a few more moments, but when nothing changed he started to get a bit concerned that their leader had hit his head a bit too hard on his trip to the floor. Just as he was starting to rack his brain for signs of a lockjaw and the possible treatments, Rick spoke.

“Yer pretty” he announced, one of his hands flailing wildly, before it smacked the hunter square in the face. Daryl didn't mind, reasonably thinking it was aimed somewhere close, like his shoulder or leg, or maybe the wall that was a good yard from them. But then Rick's hand landed on his chest and the fingers curled in his shirt and Daryl was sure that he should get the man to bed. He gripped Rick's shoulders hard and pulled.

“‘kay, up with ya” he huffed and hoisted him up, trying to keep his body more or less vertical. He wrapped one arm around their leader's waist and started to steer him to the door to their cells, thankful that the man didn't protest too much.

The peace didn't last long, however, for as soon as they walked by the table, Rick suddenly became more aware, stopping in his tracks and looking around. He noticed two empty seats next to Beth and proceeded to drag Daryl along to take one of them. The archer groaned, struggling to hold him upright but followed, not really keen on fighting him. Once they got to the table Rick plopped down on the seat, losing his balance and diving straight into Beth's chest. Daryl cursed and pulled him away quickly, throwing an apologetic glance towards the girl while Rick looked at her with a blissed out look on his face.

“Ya smell nice” he drawled, still grinning and Daryl prayed that Hershel hadn't heard that. Judging by the way he was jabbing his finger in Carol's pasta art piece with a single-minded focus it went unnoticed. He sighed in relief and turned Rick to him.

The man still had that goofy smile all over his face and Daryl yelped when Rick took another dive, this time landing on his chest and breathing deeply. He pulled him away just to be greeted with an idiotic grin directed at him.  
“Ya smell nicer” he announced like it was the best discovery of the century, before he leaned on Daryl’s shoulder. The hunter was so taken aback with what Rick said that he didn't really have the mind power to work on his vertical position anymore. He just let his friend use him as a living pillow, making sure Rick's head was comfortable where it landed on his shoulder.

It wasn't long before Daryl felt Rick’s body sag fully into him and he heard soft huffs to his left. He looked down and found the leader’s eyes closed and his mouth open as the man half-snored, half-puffed in his sleep. Having the feeling that Rick losing his balance would result in another fall and a case of stupid smiling, Daryl wrapped one arm around his waist, making sure he wouldn't just collapse backwards from the bench. He was content to just sit there with Rick pressed to his side, listening to the conversation at the table.

The archer was so comfortable like this that he let his mind drift, not really feeling the passing of time. Rick was leaning on him, all the weight of his upper body being now supported only by Daryl. It made the archer feel strangely warm and he tried to tell his body to behave and his mind to shut up, but it was no use. With every passing minute, the strange warmth only seemed to intensify, flowing through his veins and making him all funny. It wasn't the all-consuming, burning heat of arousal, not like this and not yet, though Daryl felt that too sometimes. More often than not, lately, especially when he ended up in Rick's close proximity.

But this? It almost felt like that strange feeling he got when he was a kid and went to his friend's house once. The peace he found there, the calmness that made him feel almost safe, while his own home meant only trouble and disappointment… it was the same kind of feeling, one he thought to be dead, beaten out of him when he had been growing up. He looked down in disbelief at the peacefully napping man, drooling all over his shoulder, and had to smile a bit. It was nice, comfortable and domesticated, and if he could just ignore those pretty pink lips that moved a little with every puff of air, Daryl would admit that he felt like being home. Not his shitty house with his shitty family when he had been a kid, but that ideal home people must think about when they get that dreamy gaze and a soft smile, the home where they want to be and never leave, the one where the sunlight is a bit less harsh and a bit warmer. The one where, if the wind blows outside, you just cover yourself in a blanket and wait it out, safe and sure that nothing can harm you.

Daryl had the sudden urge to see for himself, whether wrapping up in a blanket with Rick would bring him a peaceful night, as opposed to what little sleep he usually got. Would it be all nice and safe, as he thought? He frowned, watching Rick's lips and licking his own unconsciously. Sure, the man made him feel like home he never had when he was younger was within his reach, but Rick also stirred something inside Daryl, something he didn't really have the nerves to explore before the outbreak. It wasn't only the innocence of a warm, homey safety, but also passion buried deep within him coming to light. He wanted this man, wanted him more than whatever male friend he had made out with when he had been a teenager.

Daryl groaned, realizing that he had been staring at Rick for an awfully long time, lost in his own head and the dreams that could never become true. Rick was probably straight, what with having been married to Lori when they met. And even if he was calling Daryl pretty, it was only the alcohol talking, so the hunter didn't try to read anything else from it. He will just have to live and keep on wondering how nice it would be to hold the sheriff in his arms, of how easy it would be to wrap both hands around the warm body next to his and bury beneath a heavy blanket, sleep through the night without having to face his nightmares or Rick's recent insomnia. He was sure that his friend would be sleeping better too, just like he was now. Even if Rick was five sheets to the wind, he usually stayed more or less guarded, the apocalypse around them a good enough reason not to show his belly to anyone. And yet here he was, sleeping, trusting Daryl to keep them safe, keep _him_ safe, and the hunter just knew that they would both feel comfortable and warm and _at home_ together. Even if Rick was just leaning on him because he was drunk off his ass and Daryl happened to be in the right place at the right time, sitting next to him at the table.

In prison.

With their whole family watching them.   
  
_Fuck._

Daryl shook his head looking up and scanning their faces. Nobody paid them any attention. They were still talking, and drinking, and Daryl was surprised not even one of them caught him daydreaming. But then again, they all had a lot alcohol coursing through their systems, and Rick _was_ drunk, and nobody minded really, because the guy needed some relaxing time to wind down, and it was nothing special that in his drunken state he did some stupid things. And Daryl… Daryl seemingly got away with his arm around their leader, his eyes set on Rick's lips and a dreamy smile on his own.

It must have been a good hour before the man sleeping on his shoulder, drooling all over it, finally stirred and straightened, wincing as his neck protested the awkward position it had been put in. Rick blinked at Daryl with big confused eyes and, dear lord, there was this shit eating grin again, blinding the hunter with its intensity.

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked, eyes narrowing. And suddenly the grin was gone and their leader was frowning hard, his face an expression of pure concentration. Daryl waited patiently for whatever it was that was trying to surface from the depths of his mind, but when it actually came, the hunter snorted with amusement.  
“Need ta take t’piss” the other man mumbled, attempting to stand up, which only resulted in him flopping back on his seat. Rick frowned even harder at the table in front of him and tried again. Daryl watched, smirking, as the gravitation won every single round of the fight, before he finally decided to help the man before he eyefucked the table to death.

Once Rick was up and actually managing to stay vertical, he staggered in the general direction of the communal bathrooms and Daryl watched him go, in awe as to how the bowlegged sheriff could actually manage not to face plant into the floor before he got to the threshold. It didn't take long before Rick was back with them, and as the luck had it, it was exactly the time they decided to wrap up the evening. Daryl was helping Glenn to collect the dishes from the table, trying not to disturb the pasta art on one of the corners when the plates in Glenn’s hand suddenly flew out of it and landed behind the table.

He looked at Glenn's hand, startled at the man’s squeak, ready to demand what the hell made him throw his arm out like that, when he noticed a tall, dark figure with the corner of his eye. He inhaled deeply to keep his irritation in check and turned around.

Sure enough, there Rick was, one hand on Glenn's ass and the idiotic smile back on his face as he looked at Daryl.

“What the _hell_ are ya doin’ Rick?” The hunter demanded as Glenn, still frozen in place with his arm in the air gave another squeak. The sheriff frowned, eyeing Daryl from head to toe, before he followed his own hand, confused as to why it was still grabbing an ass if Daryl was facing him. He squeezed the butt cheek in his palm to make sure it wasn't attached to the hunter and Glenn jumped, tearing his backside away from his grasp. Rick only stood there, eyes shifting between Daryl and his hand in utter confusion and the other man just rolled his eyes at him.

“‘kay, that's enough, ‘m takin’ ya to bed” he grabbed the still confused sheriff and steered them to his cell. Rick wasn't resisting, letting himself be dragged all the way to his cell and pushed down on the cot. Daryl kneeled in front of him, removing his boots one after another, setting them next to the small chair that was standing nearby. The hunter frowned when he looked up after he was finished with the boots.

Rick was sitting there, his eyes closed, with a pained expression etched deeply on his handsome face. He didn't move when the other man put one hand on his knee and squeezed it lightly, his only reaction a small tick in his cheek betraying how hard his jaw muscles worked.  
“Hey man, what isst?” Daryl murmured in a hushed tone. It made Rick shake his head a little but he didn't open his eyes. The hunter started to get concerned again so he squeezed the knee once more.

“Ya can tell me, Rick” he tried, hoping the man would just say what the hell was wrong this time so he could solve whatever drunken problem that was, and just go to sleep himself before he lost the fight with his mind and just stayed with Rick on his bed. He had to relieve Sasha from the watchtower duty in a few hours and he wanted to get some rest before that, and he was sure as hell he won't get any if he ended up here.   
“‘m sorry” came a quiet whisper above him and Daryl narrowed his eyes at the utterly miserable tone it was delivered in. He tried to figure out what was that about, but after a solid racking of his brain brought him no answers, he decided to just give up and ask.  
“Whatcha sorry ‘bout?”

Rick was silent for a long moment before he decidedly stated “ _you_ are pretty”, and watched as one of his own hands traveled to Daryl's shirt and fisted there, crinkling the fabric with his fingers. Daryl huffed, not really seeing why Rick was apologizing for thinking he was pretty, except for the fact that it was a fucking misunderstanding, one in which the leader's brain appeared to be stuck permanently. He also felt something stinging inside of his chest when he realized that Rick would never call him pretty had he not been drunk. He pried the hand off of his shirt and pushed the man down, maneuvering him on the narrow bed until he was resting with his head on the pillow. Daryl wanted to cover him with something, because the night was chilly, but the only blanket in the cell was currently pinned under Rick quickly falling asleep and he really didn't want to disturb him. He quietly went out of the small cell and headed to his own pile of blankets on the perch, taking the thickest one he could find and returning to his friend.

Rick was out like a light, snoring softly and huffing little breaths on each exhale. Daryl smiled, finding it utterly adorable and absolutely irresistible, the way the big bad cop could look and be like a little puppy sometimes. He covered him with the blanket, making sure all of his limbs were tucked in and quietly exited the cell, fighting the urge to just spend the night there, sprawled on the top of his friend.

_____

When Rick opened his eyes the next morning he was sure he had been shot because there was no way his head could hurt that much without a serious injury. He was on his back, and the sun was shining brightly through the small window high up on the wall... and of course it had to fall straight on his face. He cringed, trying to roll over, but as soon as he moved his head throbbed with another wave of blinding pain and he gave up, groaning and falling back on the pillow. He grabbed the blanket he was covered with and dragged it over his face to block the sun that was apparently set on killing him today and god was that a bad idea. It blocked the brightness, alright, but it also provided him with a noseful of Daryl's scent, and how the hell did that happen?

He inhaled deeply, against his better judgement, but he had never had any brain power left when he was hungover. It smelled faintly of Carol's washing powder, faintly of motor oil, but most importantly, it smelled of the pure masculine scent that screamed Daryl every time Rick got a whiff of it. It was intoxicating, and the sheriff was still wrapped up in the soft material, feeling warm and relaxed, and _fuck_ , but his body started to act without his permission. With every inhale his heartbeat picked up, his skin tingled more, and he could actually feel himself going from soft and pliant to hard and straining, especially when his trousers were getting tighter with every second.

Rick moved the soft fabric away from his nose, squinting at it suspiciously. It was not his blanket, and it smelled of Daryl and why on earth was it wrapped all over him? The blanket stayed silent, even if Rick glared at it for a full minute. Seeing as he was not going to get any answers out of it, he finally decided to man up and get out of bed. It ended up in him clutching at his temple and moving at a snail pace, but he managed to get his sorry ass to the showers.

The lukewarm water seemed just what he needed and after the luxurious five minutes he spent under it, Rick felt considerably better. His head was still pounding, alright, but he didn't feel like he would throw up with every move now. His body seemed to be more relaxed, too, so he managed to ignore the impromptu hard-on he popped earlier. Staggering on surprisingly jelly legs, he made his way to the common area, observing with mild satisfaction that everyone seemed to be more or less hungover, except Sasha and Carl, who were the only ones actually eating something.

As soon as he walked in and sat himself at the table, he was greeted with a snicker coming from Maggie and a groan slipping out of Glenn. He blinked at them in confusion, before the memories of the previous night started to come back. Here's a thing about Rick Grimes: he could drink himself stupid, but he usually remembered everything that happened while he was five sheets to the wind. And now all those things came back, crashing into his brain and making him blush furiously.

He had grabbed Glenn's ass. He had _grabbed_ Glenn's _ass_. And he had had a smile plastered on his face when he had done that… but why did he grab… oh.

Fuck.

_Fuck!_

With a murmured apology thrown in Glenn's general direction that was promptly ignored, he stood and stormed out of the cell block, heading straight to the guard tower. He knew Daryl had a watch and he needed to apologize to him for acting like an idiotic, love struck teenager. That thought made him pause in the middle of the yard as he blinked rapidly. He _was_ lovestruck, he fell so deep for Daryl that he couldn't see a way out if his life depended on it. But he had usually been better at hiding it, damnit. Yesterday's night made him lower all his masks and reveal what he needed to keep a secret.

He cursed silently as he got to the tower and climbed up the stairs. He needed to make sure Daryl wasn't mad at him for what he did and said last night. Maybe they could laugh it off, blame the alcohol, and Rick would keep his secret to himself? He couldn’t lose Daryl, not him and not when he finally had the man as his friend. Just being friends with the hunter was enough for Rick, he wouldn’t dare to throw it out the window and start something for which Daryl would probably punch him in his face. He had to make it right... All possible apologies were already forming on his lips when he opened the door at the top of the narrow staircase.

Daryl was there, leaning back against one of the walls, his crossbow propped under the window. All of Rick's apologies died when he took a good look at the hunter's face. He had never seen the other man with such a mix of emotions written all over his features. It lasted a moment, just a second, before it was all covered again, face schooled into the perfect mask his friend usually wore. And then there was a smirk, a perfect one-sided lift of one corner of that mouth and, even though Rick could tell it was only an act, he felt suddenly warmer. Daryl has always had this effect on him…

“How’s yer head?” The question tore him out of his mind and he blinked at the playful tone it was delivered in.   
“Feels like I've been shot” Rick let himself smile a bit, mostly to put Daryl at ease. He still wondered about the troubled, emotional look his friend had when Rick stepped inside.  
“Want some?” Daryl asked, digging into one of his pockets and fishing out a Tylenol bottle. Rick took it, dry-swallowed two pills and handed it back, marveling at Daryl's strong fingers wrapping around it. He swallowed, trying not to think about those fingers wrapped around other things, squeezing, pulling…

Stop.

He shook his head, looking away, feeling the hunter's gaze focused on him.   
“Listen.. I wanted to apologize” Rick said, keeping his voice as even as possible. _No,_ the little voice in his head murmured, _you're not sorry at all….  
_ “Fer what?” Daryl looked at him as if he grew another head. “Ya were drunk, no need ta apologize.”

“Well…” Rick coughed, trying to clear his throat that decided to lump up on its own accord. “I'm still sorry I acted like a jerk…” he offered hopefully, looking up. Daryl wasn't looking at him anymore, his face turned to one of the windows, eyes narrowed. There was something unreadable about his expression and Rick wished very badly that he had the power to break it down, pick it apart and see what it was.

“‘s okay, ya didn't mean any of it, Rick” Daryl murmured, still looking away and this time the sheriff winced at the tone of his voice. He remembered that tone perfectly from every time they had an argument with Shane, when Daryl chimed in just to be belittled by his former partner. Daryl would say something he didn't mean in his own defence, his voice the exact same pitch and timbre as now, just before his hackles went up and he snapped a biting comment to drive the point home. Now it looked so familiar that Rick blinked rapidly, trying to force his hungover brain to work on this a bit faster, feeling something big was dancing just out of his grasp, unwilling to let it go without catching it.

Daryl looked sad and longing for the briefest of moments when he said those words, almost as if he wished Rick meant…

Oh.

_Oh._

The sheriff cleared his throat again and sighed, looking for words on his own.   
“Ya know… I… I might have meant some of that, actually” he carefully started, watching Daryl's face intently. The archer seemed to freeze in place for a second, before his eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Collecting himself, Rick thought.   
“Ya were drunk…” Daryl mumbled, opening his eyes again and Rick was truly mesmerized by the sun playing in those beautiful blue irises, lightning them perfectly.  
“‘m sober now… an’ I still think yer pretty” the sheriff whispered, still staring at the other man.

It took Daryl an awful lot of time to turn his head to face Rick, to look him in the eyes. But when he did, the sheriff was almost scared by the rawness he saw in them. Whoever made Daryl self-conscious about who he is and how he looks like deserved to burn in hell for all eternity. For Rick, this man was a perfect personification of the original sin... strong, taunting, provoking. Beautifully fresh in his attitude towards the world, towards others. Every time Rick gave his mind free rein, it would inevitably and without a fault bring him to Daryl, to his fearless archer, his partner and right hand. And, every time, Rick would be left wanting more than he could have, because he thought Daryl would be uninterested.

But right there and then, the vision standing before him wasn’t uninterested, not at all. Daryl looked at him with eyes begging for truth, with the fierce gaze that spoke of trust and devotion. He would always believe Rick, because the man never failed him, never lied to him, and the leader felt his heart start to beat faster at the realization. Daryl trusted him to tell the truth, to speak his mind or not say anything at all. And so Rick did, taking a deep breath and stepping a bit closer, trying not to spook the man, praying for the magical haze they found themselves in not to break and disappear.

“Daryl, I was really drunk last night, and I’m sorry for the position I put you in…” he broke off, feeling actually a little scared at what he wanted to say next. But, seeing the little aborted wince that crossed the hunter’s face, he decided to just speak his mind.

“...I was drunk, but I told you the truth” he watched intently as Daryl swallowed, processing the information. “I said what I think, what I’ve been thinking for longer than I care to remember. I like you… a lot. More than a lot. Actually, I like you pretty fucking much” Rick gave a little breathless laugh, already feeling like a ton of bricks fell off his chest with that confession. It was right, it was the truth, and saying it out loud made him feel good, better than he had in a long time.

Daryl blinked at him, uncertainly, arms hanging by his sides and palms squeezing into fists.  
“Rick, what are ya sayin’?” he asked after a moment, breathing deeply, probably to calm his urge to slap him, Rick reckoned.  
“‘m sayin’ that I want to be with ya, Daryl. Ya can slap me, ya can punch me, I don’ care now. I wantcha to know, ‘cause ya deserve to know. I wanna be with you, if ya’ll have me. If ya don’ wanna...” Rick swallowed nervously, trying to get past the lump in his throat. “If ya don’ wanna, then nothin’ changes. We’re friends, an’ that’s that. But if ya do, you can have me… All of me, in any way you want... So there” Rick finished, and closed his eyes, steeling himself for the punch that would probably come now that he was finished with talking. Daryl had that stormy look in his eyes through his whole speech and Rick could easily see the way his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. He took a deep breath and waited.

There was a sigh, there was a rustle of clothing, and then Rick felt the other man’s body getting closer to him. He winced, preparing himself for the flying fist, praying that Daryl would at least save his nose.   
“Ya talk too damn much, Grimes” came the soft puff against his lips and the next thing he knew Daryl was there, pushing him against the door behind him, rough hands on Rick’s hips keeping him in place, as Daryl attacked his mouth in a hungry kiss.

All through Rick’s little speech, Daryl stood there trying to calm down his suddenly wild heart. He couldn’t really comprehend what Rick was saying, nor why exactly he was saying all those things, but it made him feel so happy he could barely contain himself. All the time the hunter tried to keep his feelings in check only to be faced with Rick’s confession that it wasn’t only okay, but even _reciprocated_ ? All of Daryl’s senses went into overload as his mind screamed _‘he wants me, he wants me, he wants me’_ over and over again. So Daryl, knowing there was only one thing he really wanted in the entire world, the one thing that was now presented to him on a silver plate, willingly, desperately - going by Rick’s stuttered words and heavy breathing - now he couldn’t do anything else but to kiss that man. And so, the archer did just that, coming closer, stepping into Rick’s space and putting everything he felt into kissing him senseless.

The sheriff moaned into it, not really believing he got _this_ instead of a serious right hook he knew he earned, and wrapped both hands around the hunter’s neck, sneaking one into the unruly hair. It was heaven, the way Daryl nibbled and sucked at his lower lip, the way he sucked it inside his own mouth and ran his hot tongue carefully over it, making Rick shiver and groan. Never before had such a simple caress felt so insanely good, and Rick didn’t want it to stop. Ever.

The sheriff could feel his morning erection returning with double force, the sudden lack of blood in his brain making him feel light-headed and fuzzy all over. Daryl’s body was hard and unyielding against his own, pressing up into him and rubbing against his hips and stomach. He could feel the hunter’s hard-on, insistent and hot against his own, the little jerks of Daryl’s hips sending heat rushing through his veins. It was delicious, and on Rick’s next loud moan Daryl plunged his tongue deep inside the sheriff’s mouth, intent on tasting and claiming him. Rick’s own hips tried to thrust forward, seeking more of the friction that threatened to drive him insane, but Daryl still had his hands on the leader’s hips, still holding him pinned to the door, and Rick had no other choice but whine quietly at how hot it was. He would gladly give Daryl all the control if it felt like that.

The kiss continued for a long moment, until they were both too out of breath to continue. Daryl moved his mouth to Rick’s neck, continuing his claiming endeavour, nibbling and sucking the  ?sensitive skin just next to Rick’s jugular and the sheriff arched off the door, back bowing and hips still pinned in place.  
“Daryl…” his own voice was so raspy that he could hardly recognize it. But the archer did, apparently, for he stopped the sweet assault on his neck and looked up at him. His eyes spoke _Rick_ more clearly than they had on any other day, and the leader took a deep breath to keep himself from falling apart under that gaze.

“Please…” The sheriff whispered, shifting his hips a little, bringing Daryl’s attention to the very prominent bulge tenting the front of his trousers. The hunter looked down, eyes curious and full of want, and then back up at Rick, licking his lips.  
“I don’t…” he stuttered, “I’ve never…” he fell silent, eyes falling to the ground and biting his lip nervously. He didn’t need to finish that sentence, Rick sensed exactly what he wanted to say. _I’ve never done this before._ The sheriff brought one hand to the side of Daryl’s face and brought him closer for a long and heated kiss, breaking it only when he felt him relaxing again.

“‘s okay” Rick whispered against his mouth, “‘s okay, we don’ have to…” but Daryl shook his head, diving down to his neck and licking a wide stripe from Rick’s collarbone up to his ear. Rick shuddered and moaned at this, little joyful shocks wandering up and down his spine.  
“I wanna” Daryl gasped directly into his ear, huffing hot air all over it, making Rick squirm. “Show me how, never got further than kissing” he confessed softly, laying a few gentle nibs on the shell of Rick’s ear, making his blood boil. Rick nodded, whispering ‘okay’ and brought both of his hands to the front of Daryl’s cargos. He unfastened them and pushed the hem down a bit, catching the waist of the boxers and tugging them down, too. Not enough to make them fall to the floor, just enough to reveal the hunter’s cock.

It was big and hard, and Rick’s eyes widened as he licked his lips hungrily, thinking on how _that_ would feel inside him. He wrapped one hand around the shaft, the other sneaking to Daryl’s hip, while he looked up at the hunter.   
“This okay?” Rick asked tentatively, running the hand carefully up and down. The archer nodded, hiding his face into Rick’s neck and moaning, mouth pressed into the delicate skin at the crook of the sheriff’s neck to smother the sounds. Rick grinned, stroking harder, squeezing once he got to the head and running his finger over the very tip. The way Daryl’s hips bucked at that made him feel even hotter, the arousal coursing through him kicking up a notch. He did this, he made that strong man, his friend, his _lover_ loose control like that… it was a heady feeling and he felt so proud of himself he could burst.

Rick sped up his moves, feeling Daryl tense up a bit more with every passing second, those little cries he released into his neck making the sheriff even harder. He could feel his own length dripping in the confines of his pants, undoubtedly staining the front of his jeans, but he couldn’t care less. Not when he had Daryl’s hot, twitching body in his arms, his hard, leaking cock in hand, and the hunter’s soft whines filling his ears.  
“Let go, Dare” he whispered, squeezing a bit more, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. “I’ve got you, shhh, let go…”

And Daryl did, a panted out ‘fuck’ followed by a litany of Rick’s name leaving his lips in a rush, his hips stuttering and his hot length twitching in the sheriff’s hand. Rick stroked him lightly through it, milking out every last drop, until Daryl’s body sagged, falling on him. Rick could feel his lover’s heavy breathing calming down gradually, the little aftershocks disappearing. He waited a bit, running his clean hand through Daryl’s hair, making the man almost purr in happiness. Rick smiled at that, feeling the come cooling on his other hand. He brought it up to his lips and licked, curious what Daryl tasted like. It was weird, he decided after cleaning one of his fingers. Weird, but not bad, so he pushed the second finger inside his mouth, absentmindedly feeling Daryl’s exhausted form stir where it was draped over him.

The archer leaned back, trying to straighten himself a bit and looked at Rick, eyes immediately glued to where his fingers disappeared between his lips. Rick finished cleaning his hand and looked at him with his best impression of an innocent smile. The hunter growled, diving in and kissing him hungrily, chasing the taste of himself with his tongue invading Rick’s mouth as deep as it could. He broke off after a moment, gaze heated enough to make Rick squirm, feeling his neglected erection throb in his pants. Daryl brought both hands on each side of Rick’s head and braced them against the door behind him, effectively caging him in.

“Show me” the hunter whispered, and watched intently as Rick scrambled to take himself out of his jeans.

The sheriff briefly considered spitting on his palm, but when he took himself in hand he found out it wasn’t really necessary. Seeing his lover fall apart in his arms like that, feeling him coming with such intensity, left Rick dripping like a broken faucet. He wrapped one hand around himself, moaning at how good it felt, before he started to stroke, eyes falling shut in pure bliss. He could still feel Daryl’s intense gaze focused on him, slipping over his features, and he knew exactly what the hunter could see there. Lori told him once that he had the best ‘fucked out face’ in the entire world.

Rick gulped, the brief thought of his wife making him pause, hand stuttering over his length.

“Look at me, Rick” a harsh whisper reached his ears, and he reluctantly opened his eyes. Daryl was watching him, his laser-like gaze focused only on him. The hunter was breathing as hard as him, his body poised over Rick like a predator waiting to strike, and Rick groaned, moving his hand again, finding rhythm. It was weird how safe he felt, even if everything in Daryl’s posture and pose screamed ‘danger’. He looked into those narrowed blue eyes, now nearly black, and whispered a quiet ‘kiss me?’ when he realized he needed it like air. And Daryl pounced, pressing him into the door again, holding him by the shoulders and invading his mouth in a deep, wild kiss. That was all Rick needed.

The sheriff came with a whine muffled by his lover’s lips, all muscles tensing and locking, before he became boneless as a rag doll, supported only by Daryl’s arms bracing him against the door. His hips stuttered, cock pulsing, and he moaned when Daryl just kept kissing him through it with the same intensity, the same hunger. Rick came down slowly, feeling his come cooling on his hand and, undoubtedly, on their shirts, but he was too blissed out to care. He still had Daryl in his arms, or rather, Daryl had him in his arms, and it was probably the happiest day of Rick’s life. Just as he was debating whether he wanted to run a hand through his lover’s hair again, or just lean down and kiss one muscular shoulder, Daryl started to shake.

The hunter’s shoulders trembled, his breathing hitched and Rick felt cold fear grabbing at his insides.   
“Dare?” He asked, looking down at the other man, but Daryl pressed his face to Rick’s shoulder and shook his head. The leader really started to panic, but before he could work himself up too badly, Daryl straightened and looked at him.   
  
He was grinning like a fool, that real mind-blowing smile that was reserved only for Rick when they were on runs together and someone said something utterly ridiculous. The sheriff blinked, the knowledge that the earlier breath-hitch was apparently a happy breath-hitch calming him down.   
“What’s so funny?” He asked, still too hazy from the post-orgasmic bliss to frown at his lover. Daryl grinned even wider, if that had been even possible, and shook his head like a happy dog.   
“Man, if I knew you’d be so gay after getting drunk, I woulda made some moonshine a long time ago” he explained, still shaking with laughter. Rick scoffed.

“‘m not gay… ‘s just you ‘m after” he grumbled, without any heat to the words. Daryl only laughed harder at that.   
“Maaaan, ya’ve got yer hand on Glenn’s ass for like five minutes yesterday. Squeezed it, too” he added, but his tone was still teasing, not accusatory. Rick huffed and blushed.  
“Well… I aimed for yers, needed to check if I got t’ right one” now the leader grinned, too. He leaned in and kissed Daryl lightly.

“Ya missed for over a yard, smartass” the hunter said, still smirking, once they broke apart. Rick raised both eyebrows and gave him the best ‘come hither’ look.  
“Seems like ya have to make sure I get the right one next time, then” he whispered, and dove in for another kiss, feeling Daryl moan lightly into it, pressing into him even harder.


End file.
